


Night

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Points of View, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26274229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By Kassandra.Just a little piece about unrequited love.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 3
Collections: Least Expected





	Night

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien.  
>  Story Notes: Takes place somewhere on the way from Moria to Lothlórien. Influenced by a weird mixture of books and movie.

The campfire is blazing and crackling and throwing small sparks into the gloomy night air, casting eerie shadows over dirty and weary faces. We have not rested for days, and the loss of dear people and the bone deep exhaustion of wandering, climbing and tumbling through the wilderness have finally worn out even the most courageous and lively of us. 

Legs are stretched out with contented sighs, hands extended to get warm over the fire and the little remaining food is spread justly to the eight members of the fellowship. We eat in silence, tired eyes solemnly meeting those of another, reluctantly, maybe afraid of the despair we may find in them. 

I glance upwards, noticing that the sky above us is sprinkled with stars, so the night is going to be cold. When I look down again I realise that he is staring at me, his eyes bright and filled with defiance, shining out of a face darkened by a layer of filth and sweat. I start to watch him over the fire, and he watches me, and for a moment we are lost in this private exchange, the others sitting beside us without being aware of what is going on. Has been going on for a while. 

I drown in his eyes, my world diminishing to black pupils swimming in dark cerulean oceans of ancient wisdom that sometimes makes his gaze so penetrating that I wish to evade it. But not now. In this moment I am content, despite my completely fatigued body and disconcerted mind. Then he raises one perfect eyebrow, an expression I find mesmerising, for it is not innocent at all. 

I know that this is all a game to him. Trying to figure out how long I can resist him. How long a mere mortal, burdened with worries and sorrows that do not really concern him, can withstand his allurement. And maybe, just this once, just tonight, I might give in. 

I have spent many an hour with studying his fair face and lithe body, promising hours of pleasure both physically and intellectually, for his frame is as perfect as his mind wise. Every time he caught me looking, he threw me a smile that would have set the Gulf of Lhn on fire, making me become acutely aware of his every movement and word. 

But he is just playing. Maybe this suicide mission that has united all these unfortunate creatures is not exciting enough for him. Maybe he has got nothing to lose, for the Elves are leaving Middle-Earth nevertheless and care little about what will become of the rest of us. Or maybe he thinks he has lived long enough. 

I do not know, and I do not intend to ask him. 

He suddenly averts his gaze, stands and walks around the fire, asking Frodo in hushed and very polite tones to move aside a little. Then he comes to sit beside me, and I can feel his presence more than actually see him. The others finally begin to talk quietly, and whatever he means to say to me, he thinks it a good time to say it now. He starts to speak, and I turn to him and watch his lips move and how the tip of his tongue becomes visible when he says certain words. 

His eyes are very lively while he talks, radiating enthusiasm and understanding at the same time. His gestures are sparse, minimalist but efficient. Just like the way he fights. I leave his face for a moment, watching his hands instead. Delicate but strong, filling my mind with images of them trailing down my body. 

I swallow hard, realising that he now looks expectantly at me and that I did not get much of the content of his speech. I ask him to repeat his last words, trying to buy time. He complies, smiling knowingly, and I finally understand that he has been talking about nothing important, that he is just trying to comfort me. 

I am not sure how he knows that I need it, but I am grateful nevertheless. When he puts an arm around me in a sort of brotherly embrace, I stiffen at first, but then I gradually relax to the warmth he exudes. The smell of his hair is intoxicating, although he has spent the last few days without a decent bath like all of us. 

Then I am assaulted by the sudden urge to tell him to back off, although it is not unpleasant at all, but already I can feel the solemn gazes of some of the others resting upon me. I do not know whether it is envy that I have been chosen or mere interest in other peoples' relations. 

I disengage and stand, leaving the circle of light the fire casts and walk a few steps away without leaving hearing range. I want to be alone for a while, suddenly missing the endless months I have spent wandering Middle-Earth without ever meeting a living soul. 

He follows me, of course, and for a while we just stand together, looking over the countryside that is only a dark outline of steep hills and trees, the faint talking of the others in the background. Then a hand reaches over my shoulder, warm and gentle, slipping inside my shirt while a tall and firm body presses against my back. 

I sigh, turning around to face him, determined to tell him that this must stop, that he distracts me and that his advances do not fall on fertile ground... but then his eyes capture me again, rendering me helpless and immobile. After long moments of staring, of his gaze caressing my face rather hotly, I try to disengage, but his fingers dig into my jaw, holding on, while his thumb starts to rub over my lips. The physical sensation that is caused by those movements registers in my brain, but my feelings are not passionate. I admire his seductive skills in a strangely detached sort of way, and I know that I will fall for them eventually, but... I am in control. 

There is nothing else that I can do. Anything else would give me away. Would give away the careful masquerade of friendship and indifference I have so desperately tried to maintain. I am not sure why. Maybe for the sake of peace. My own, his... Maybe that of all the members of the fellowship, for I am their leader now. I am responsible for them. I cannot have my watchful eyes clouded by some silly infatuation. Only that it goes way beyond that already. 

His fingers leave my jaw, but only to push a strand of hair behind my ear. He bends to whisper something to me, about going somewhere else where nobody would disturb us. I raise an eyebrow at that, although he cannot see this, for a sudden distaste creeps up my throat at this oh so elaborate scheme he has invented. It is all so perfect, so without any edges or at least an embarrassing moment of not knowing when to kiss the other. Just those things that usually happen at first encounters like this. 

I do not know what he wants from me. I do not think that this is about his own needs, in case he has them. And if it was about them, he could have that from anyone else in the company. I have seen all of them stealing longing or at least appreciative glances at him at one time or another. 

But for some reason unknown to me he chose me. And what should make me feel special only makes me feel terribly sad. A quick lay for someone who can have countless others after me and has presumably had countless others before me. Just temporary physical pleasure without obligations. A few moments of bliss among all the other terror- and fear-filled ones. 

Meaningless but for that one purpose: Forgetting everything else for a while. 

I am not sure why I even care. I should be glad at the prospect of spending the night with this ethereal creature after long months of loneliness. But as much as it is, it is not enough. 

I nod slowly, accepting his offer. Then I look over his shoulder at the others. They do not seem to miss us, but I am sure that they know exactly what is going on. They know that I am weak, that even I, the Heir of Isildur with this accursed kingly blood in my veins, cannot stand this forever. That I am bound to break under the pressure like a dam assaulted by the flood. 

He is like a flood to me. At times soft, floating around me without even a subtle hint at the strength and flexibility he harbours. But then, when he fights, he is like a hurricane. He comes upon the enemies like a plague and mows them down with one swift arrow after another, drowning them in a sea of deadliness. 

And when it is over, his eyes flash with a fire that tells me he has enjoyed himself. A fire that reminds me of the fact that behind this deceptively slim figure and gentle face a warrior with lethal skills is hidden. 

He takes my hand now and pulls me away from the camp, into the darkness, until I can only see the outlines of his body and feel his strong hand holding on to my mine. He does not say a word, and it is almost like making love to a ghost. And I know that it is going to come down to this: making love. He will seduce me with all tricks of the trade, make me breathless with need until I will break down at his feet with utter worship. 

He will provide me with what he thinks will ease my burden and make me feel better, if only for the darkest hour of one night. For him it will be an act of kindness, and I do not think he cares what it will mean to me. Elves can be very selfish in their pursue of beauty. 

He is going through the motions one by one, silently, his skilful fingers so quick with undoing my garments that I almost cannot feel their touch. Merely strands of his silken hair slide over my naked skin now and then, reminding me that he is made of flesh and bones like me. 

I am overcome by a sudden shyness and insecurity, and I want to tell him that he should better stop and leave things the way they are and not make everything more complicated than it already is, but he silences me with soft lips on my own. 

In a way it is like I have imagined. And it is not, for in my dreams I have never been able to picture such gentle affection and plain need combined in one brief touching of lips. I guess he has perfected his seduction technique over the last three millennia. And I guess I do not stand a chance. 

He gently pushes my legs out from under my body and places me on the grassy ground in one fluid motion, handling my weight with surprising ease and grace. I feel a little ridiculous, being stark naked while his still dressed form bends over me, but when I extend my hands to rid him of his own clothing, he brushes them away courteously but resolutely and they fall to the ground on either side of me, uselessly. I am apparently not allowed to touch him. 

When his sweet tongue enters my mouth, I start to get lost in a strange blur of feelings. Suffering from an overload of sensations I cannot tell anymore what specific part of my body his long nimble fingers are caressing or what inch of skin he is so exquisitely tonguing. All I know is that it feels _good_ and that I do not want him to stop. 

When his head hovers over mine again and the sensual onslaught stops for a moment, I can feel that he is smiling, but when I open my eyes his expression in the gloom almost startles me. Shadows are gathered around his face, while his eyes catch every little bit of remaining starlight, appearing bizarre in their suddenly cold hunger. But maybe I am making this disturbing detail up to reduce him, to make him less of the ever desirable loveliness that he is. To rid me of this shattering need that is eating up my very insides. 

As if he can read my mind he pauses for a moment and bends down to kiss me gently and wipe all my troubles and doubts away. This simple gesture takes my breath away, for in its utter innocence and beauty is touches my heart. This is the strangest thing about him, that in the middle of performing this profane action of giving physical pleasure to a body that is as unwashed and starved for contact as anybody else's after months on the road, he can make it appear, and if even for a moment, like something holy, like a mingling of souls and not only of sweat and filth. 

I love him for that. Although he has taken my soul without giving me his. 

He starts to touch me all over again, finally pushing me over the edge with his warm velvety mouth around me. I dig my fingernails into the cold soil beneath me and my hips buck, causing his silken hair to fall from behind his shoulders and cover me like a smooth blanket. Everything shifts out of place for a moment and a hoarse scream erupts from my throat, echoing through the lonely landscape and undoubtedly into the ears of our fellow travellers. 

I do not care. 

When the world returns to its usual harsh disillusionment, the pleasure slowly subsiding, I am left feeling numb with despair and dread that this was all I will ever get, that I should not have given into the attraction for the sake of this little encounter that will now haunt my sleep for the rest of my life. 

I start to shiver from the cold that is slowly creeping into my body and from being utterly spent. He sits up and watches me intensely in the darkness, and I am reminded of the fact that he sees much better under these circumstances than I do, for his gaze seems as scrutinising as in the broad light of day. 

I wonder if he beholds a lonely miserable creature, since this is how I feel. A sudden aura of detachment falls over him, and I do not dare to touch him, although there is nothing I want more. Then he smiles regretfully, as if to say that I should not complain. That this was all he is able to give me. Or wants to give. 

And I know that it is true. All of this has been played exclusively according to his rules, and he is confident that I will not cross that line. I will not, for his wish is my law. Yet. 

I return his smile, tinged with bitterness. I know that I will wake up tomorrow, and he will treat me with the same courtesy and confidence like all the others. He will look at me kindly and speak to me with interest, indicating with not so much as a slight blushing that something has happened between us tonight that means more than the mere contact of skin. 

But maybe it does not. And maybe I should forget all this and banish this hopeless love from my heart before it consumes me. 

And maybe, one day, we will play this according to _my_ rules. 

**THE END**


End file.
